


The Boy Who Lived: The Beginning

by The_Fang_Kid



Series: The Boy Who Lived [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1991-1992, Alive Regulus, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Harry, Bisexual Ron, Black Hermione, Hogwarts, M/M, Multi, Philosopher's Stone, Punjab Harry, Trans Ron Weasley, slow-burn Drarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fang_Kid/pseuds/The_Fang_Kid
Summary: Harry wasn't special. He wasn't a wizard. But when a short, good-looking man with a magic wand says otherwise, he's whisked away into a new world that he didn't know even existed. He gains new friends and learns new spells - but when the evil Lord Voldemort is after a mysterious object, it's up to Harry and his new friends, Ron and Hermione, to stop him.Basically, an AU where Regulus and Snape switched fates. Part One of Seven
Series: The Boy Who Lived [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901278
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't hate Harry Potter; I hate it's creator. I'm trying to fill in plot-holes as well as the void in Regulus Black content.

PROLOGUE   
On Privet Drive, they expected normalcy. Everyone dressed the same way, everyone talked the same way, and everyone acted the same way. It wasn’t the sort of street that lured wild adventures.   
However, it was also very alluring to the abnormal, according to superstitions. It was Hallow’s Eve, the one night of the year when evil reigned in the mortal world. And it was Witching Hour. Everyone was asleep at home. Only cats lurked in the darkness.   
One minute, the street was dead with silence. The next, he stood at the end of the street, a silver cigarette lighter held out-stretched in his hand.   
With a click of the lighter, the streetlights blinked out. All anyone could see in the pitch black night was his silhouette; tall, robed and wearing a pointed hat.   
The darkness didn’t bother him, as he walked up to number four and sat on its low garden wall, as if he was at the bus stop waiting for the number forty-five. To pass the time, he pulled out a paper bag and popped a lemon drop into his mouth.   
About an hour had passed by when a droning noise distracted him from the confectionary. He looked up. At first, it was a dot in the sky, another star or a plane passing over. But as the droning grew louder, the spot grew bigger, until it was unmistakably a headlight. It reached the ground—a motorcycle, well-maintained by its owner.   
The driver pulled the protective helmet off and parked the bike. Unlike the other man, his silhouette was short and clothed in biker leathers.   
“Professor Dumbledore,” he greeted the other man.   
“Professor Black,” said Dumbledore. Even in the darkness, his eyes twinkled. “You’ve made it, just as I hoped. There weren’t any troubles, were there?”   
“No, Professor. He fell asleep as we entered Surrey.” He reached into the sidecar and eased out a bundle of blankets.   
“And the bike?”   
“My brother’s, Sir. Are... are you sure we should bring him here?”  
Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses back up his nose. “I’m afraid so. It’s the safest place for him.”   
“He would be famous—every child would grow up hearing his story—and you want to exile him to a pack of muggles?!” Black stammered.   
“They’re people too, my boy, not animals. It’d be better for everyone if you set aside your prejudices. Besides, fame and fortune would be enough to turn anyone’s head. Wouldn’t it be better for him to live in humility before he’s ready for all that?”   
Black didn’t reply. There was no point arguing in a battle he couldn’t win. Instead, he glared at Dumbledore while handing him the blanket bundle. Dumbledore pushed back the blanket to reveal a baby boy’s asleep face. A tuft of black hair poked out, just above a thin white scar that branched out over his forehead like a bolt of lightning.   
No one said a word as Dumbledore walked up to the door and gently settled the child on the welcome mat, tucking an envelope into the blanket. The twinkle had dimmed in the Professor’s eyes as he looked back up.   
“Well, that is that. There’s nothing left for us to do here. Might as well join in on the celebrations.”   
Black got back onto the motorbike and put the helmet back on. “I’d better return the bike. I’ll see you at school, Professor.”   
And with that, the bike roared to life and flew into the night. Dumbledore pulled out the cigarette lighter and with a click, the streetlights blinked on again. He was nowhere in sight.


	2. Chapter One: The Talking Snake

CHAPTER ONE—THE TALKING SNAKE  
The frying pan sizzled. Harry stretched his arm over the cooker to flip the bacon with a spatula. He had pushed kitchen stool out of the way; he didn’t need it now that he was ten. An old love song from the sixties played on the radio.   
Behind him sat Uncle Vernon at the kitchen table, his nose buried in a big newspaper. Piled up on the table were stacks and stacks of wrapped gifts.   
The door burst open, and Dudley sat at the table next to his father, followed in by his mother, Petunia.   
Looking at Dudley and Harry together, no one could believe that they were cousins. Dudley was taller than average, with neat sandy blond hair, baby-blue eyes against his pink skin and a soft body frame. Harry, on the other hand, was several inches shorter, with messy black hair, jade green eyes that hid behind his scratched wire-framed glasses, a light brown skin tone and a thin stature. The biggest difference was the lightning bolt scar that branched out across Harry’s forehead. Between the two boys, the only similarity was their small, button noses, which they both shared with Petunia.   
Harry dished out the bacon onto four plates and found room for them on the table. Vernon folded away his newspaper. He looked a lot like Dudley, except with a large mustache and brown hair.   
“Thirty six,” Dudley sniffed. “That’s two less than last year.”   
Petunia pushed her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear and counted the gifts. “You’ve missed out Aunt Marge’s present. See? It’s hidden under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”   
“Alright, thirty-seven then.”   
It was only a matter of time before Dudley threw a tantrum, so Harry wolfed down his bacon before the table flipped over.   
“And we’ll buy you two more presents when we’re out today,” Petunia rushed, her blue eyes wide and desperate. “Two more presents. See?”   
Dudley’s face screwed up in concentration. “So I’ll have thirty…”   
“Thirty-nine, sweetums.”   
“Oh, okay, then.” Dudley grabbed the closest present and tore off the wrapping. An expensive-looking gold watch. As he made for another present, the phone rang and Petunia left to answer it.   
A few minutes later, she returned with the landline receiver in her hand, directing a pointed glare towards Harry.   
“What is it, Pet?” Vernon looked up, eyebrows furrowed in worry.   
“Mrs Figg can’t take him. She tripped over one of her wretched cats and broke her leg.”   
Harry tried to make himself as small as possible. He had nothing to do with Mrs Figg’s unfortunate injury, but they always blamed him for everything.   
“So what are we going to do with him?” asked Vernon. “Why don’t you ask what’s-her-name… Yvonne?”  
“On holiday in Majorca,” she snapped. “We could take him with us, I suppose. And leave him in the car.”   
“It’s bloody brand-new, we’re not leaving him in there on his own!”   
Dudley scrunched up his face and wailed dry tears. She immediately rushed to his side.   
“Don’t worry, Duddykins, we won’t let him ruin your special day!”   
“B-but he always s-spoils everything!” he sobbed.   
But, in just as much of a shock to Harry as anyone else, he found himself in the back seat of Vernon’s silver four-by-four as they drove down the motorway. Petunia and Vernon couldn’t think of anything else to do with him, so he was now on a family outing for the first time he could remember.   
As the four of them walked through the gates of the London Zoo, they passed a smiling lady with an ice-cream cart. Dudley was given a double-chocolate cone, and as she had asked Harry what he wanted before they could move on, he was given a cheap lemon ice lolly.   
At lunch, Harry was even allowed to finish Dudley’s knickerbocker glory because it “wasn’t big enough”.   
Overall, it was one of the best days Harry could remember.   
It was cold and dark in the reptile house. Dudley quickly found the biggest snake - a Brazilian boa constrictor. It was long enough to wrap itself around Vernon’s car twice over and crush it into the nearest dustbin, but it didn’t appear to be interested in that. It coiled itself around the log in its tank, watching the visitors.   
“Make it move!” Dudley whined.   
Vernon tapped the glass sharply with his knuckle. The boa didn’t move. Sighing, both Dudley and Vernon moved onto the next tank. Harry slid in front of the glass.   
“I’m sorry about them,” Harry muttered. The snake’s head rose up to meet his own.   
His ears prickled. Don’t worry, I get that all the time.   
His jaw slacked involuntarily. He was speaking to a snake, and he could hear his response - even through the glass. But, not wanting to be rude, he pretended that he was used to it.   
“Brazil, what’s it like there?”  
The snake jabbed its tail towards the sign next to the tank. This specimen was bred in captivity.   
Harry’s throat stung. The snake had been locked away, only seen for public amusement.   
“I’m sorry... I didn’t realize. I never knew my parents, either.”   
“Mummy! Dad! Look at this snake!” Dudley ran back to the tank, shoving Harry out of the way.   
Harry hadn’t expected it. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the tarmac. His eyes burned.   
One minute, the glass was intact, and Dudley’s face was pressed against it. The next, there was only an empty frame. Dudley jumped back, a whelp escaping from him. The Boa slithered out of the tank, onto the floor. Within minutes, people noticed it and dashed for the exits.   
Thanks for that, mate.   
“Any time,” Harry answered.   
I’m free! Brazil, here I come! The snake slid away, playfully snapping at people’s ankles as he passed them.   
Vernon was violently red, barking at the nearest worker to bring him the zoo manager. Petunia had turned pale, her hands shaking. The rest of the zoo trip had been postponed - the zoo was shut down as soon as possible until the snake had been captured.   
The car ride back was completely silent. Only when they were at home and inside could Vernon string words together.   
“Go - cupboard - stay - no meals!” he said, before barking at Petunia to get him a large brandy.


	3. Chapter Two: The Parchment Envelopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special letter turns up at Privet Drive for Harry.

CHAPTER TWO—THE PARCHMENT ENVELOPES  
School had broken up for the summer by the time they let Harry out of his cupboard. On the one hand, Harry could finally escape the torment of his classmates. However, he was never free from the clutches of Dudley, whose friends visited the house almost every single day. Though they all varied in stupidity, they were all keen to join Dudley in a game of Harry-Hunting.   
Harry stayed in the park a few streets away as a result, thinking to himself. There was a small ray of hope that laid at the start of September. Both he and Dudley would go to Secondary School and while Dudley would attend a posh Private School called Smeltings, they would send Harry to Stonewall High, the local Public school.   
“They stuff people’s heads down toilets at Stonewall,” said Dudley, smirking. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”  
“No thanks. The poor toilet’s not had anything as ugly as your head down it—it might be sick.” Harry rushed off, leaving Dudley scratching his head and scrunching his face up in confusion.   
Mid-July, Petunia drove Dudley into London to get his new uniform, which he returned wearing. Harry bit his lip, trying to hold back his laugh. The boys’ uniform included a maroon tailcoat blazer with matching tie, socks and wool jumper, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried around a thin, knobbly stick, which they used to hit each other with when the teachers weren’t looking. Vernon had insisted that it was training for later in life.   
The next day, Harry wrinkled his nose at the stench of bleach that permeated the Kitchen. The source of the smell, he discovered, was a bucket on the worktop filled with murky grey water.   
“What’s this?” he asked Petunia.  
She stiffened. “Your new school uniform.”  
“Oh. I didn’t realise it had to be so wet.”  
“Don’t be stupid—it’ll look like everyone else’s once I’m done dying it.”   
Yeah, like bits of old elephant skin. Harry glanced back at the bucket. The ray of hope dimmed.   
Dudley banged his Smeltings stick on the table as he entered with Vernon. In the hallway, the letter-box clicked as the postman pushed the post through.   
Vernon grabbed the day’s newspaper and opened it. “Get the post, Dudley.”  
“Make Harry get it.”   
“Get the post, Boy.”  
“Make Dudley get it.”  
“Hit him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.”  
Harry dodged the Smeltings stick and ducked into the hallway, picking up the post. Two brown envelopes addressed to Vernon (probably bills), one for Petunia with a Majorca stamp, a postcard from Aunt Marge and- Harry almost dropped the rest of them. A thick yellow envelope, addressed to him in flowing green ink. It even had his cupboard in the address.   
“What are you doing in there, checking for letterbombs?” Vernon called, chuckling at his own awful joke.   
Dazed, Harry sauntered back into the kitchen and handed the rest of the post to Vernon. He turned his own letter over. A purple wax crest sealed it shut—a letter “H” in the centre, surrounded by an eagle, a lion, a badger and a snake. Underneath, it read “Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus”.   
“Dad—look! Harry’s got a letter!” yelled Dudley, pulling Harry back out of his daze. He snatched the letter out of his hand and dashed over to Vernon.  
Vernon quickly turned pale and blotchy. He dropped the letter, grabbed both boys by the scruff of their necks and dumped them in the hallway. After a wrestling match that Dudley won, Dudley peeked through the keyhole, leaving Harry to watch Petunia and Vernon’s feet through the crack at the bottom of the door.   
“You think they’re watching us?” (Petunia)  
“Watching... spying... maybe following us.” (Vernon)  
The next day, much to Harry’s surprise, Vernon visited him in his cupboard.   
“Where’s my letter?”  
“It was a mistake,” said Vernon. “I’ve burned it.”   
“But it wasn’t a mistake...it had my cupboard on it.”  
“Ah. About your cupboard, Petunia and I think it would be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom—we think you might be too big for the cupboard now.”  
“Why?” Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows.  
“DON’T ASK QUESTIONS!”   
It took only one trip for Harry to move everything he owned into the spare room. There were four rooms: Petunia and Vernon’s room, Dudley’s room, the visitor’s room that was most often occupied by Aunt Marge, and the spare room where Dudley stored anything that didn’t fit into his first room.   
Harry closed the door behind him. A small window hovered over an oak desk that the varnish had worn off. Shelves lined the walls, filled with cracked bakelite and bent metal, Dudley Dursley sprawled in permanent marker on everything.   
Yesterday, Harry would’ve given anything to be here. But in that moment, he would rather be in his cupboard with the letter than upstairs without it.   
He tried to stay out of his cousin’s sight for the rest of the day. Dudley had thrown his tortoise through the glass greenhouse, been sick on purpose, broke his computer and threatened to run away, all to get the room back. It didn’t work. Harry stayed in his room as much as so Dudley couldn’t use him for target practice.   
But moving Harry didn’t stop the post that came the next day. Three letters, all addressed to him, down to his new bedroom. Vernon didn’t go into work that week; he spent it nailing the letter box shut, filling up the cracks in the doors and windows. But the letters just kept coming—in Petunia’s eggs that the milkman had handed to her through the window, out of the washing machine, up the drain in the sink.   
By Sunday, the last nerve in Vernon had snapped. “No post today,” he grinned to himself as he spread marmalade on his newspapers. "Not a single letter. Not a single one!”   
Something fluttered out of the fireplace. Followed by another, and another, until thousands were pummelling out, being tossed into the air—they were all letters addressed to Harry. Petunia shrieked and tried to shield Dudley, who was whining in fear.   
“OUT! EVERYONE INTO THE HALLWAY!” yelled Vernon. Everyone dashed out of the room and he slammed the door shut behind him. He ordered everyone to pack their things and meet them there in the hour.   
The next thing they knew, Vernon was driving down the motorway, his face as red as a beetroot, Petunia at his side in the passenger seat scared to say anything. Dudley and Harry sat in the back.   
“I’m hungry,” whined Dudley. “And it’s Monday. The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stop somewhere with a TV.”   
Vernon only stopped once at a petrol station, returning with a long thin package and a multipack bag of crisps before they arrived at their destination.   
The wind was blustery, rustling the trees, shrouded in stone grey clouds that hid the night sky. They were in a field, a few static caravans dotted around. The car stopped at Number Three.   
“Everybody out!” Vernon said cheerfully.   
Inside the caravan, there were two bedrooms; a master bedroom, that Vernon and Petunia would sleep in, and a single room, that Dudley claimed. They left Harry on the sofa.   
The three Dursleys had a bag of crisps each, and Vernon bragged about how the letters wouldn’t find them there. Privately, Harry agreed, though the thought formed a vile lump in his throat.   
At nine o’clock, the Dursleys all went to sleep. But Harry couldn’t. The wind howled outside, and the caravan walls threatened to collapse right on top of him.   
It was around midnight, Harry guessed, that there was a knock on the door.


	4. Chapter Three: The Potions Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Dursleys are on the run, a certain professor finds them in need of telling Harry something.

CHAPTER THREE - THE POTIONS MASTER  
At first, Harry dismissed it as debris caught in the wind, hitting the caravan. But the knocking came again, more definite. Vernon and Petunia rushed in from their room, Vernon carrying a long gun—at least he knew what was in that package.   
“Don’t come in!” yelled Vernon. “I’m armed!”  
Dudley trudged out of his room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.   
There was a flash of light, and the door swung open. Stood outside was a shorter-than-average man in a long black cloak, holding a decorative stick. His soft velvet-black hair cut short, out of the way of his pale but handsome face.   
“Ah, I take it you’re Mr and Mrs Dursley?” he smiled politely. “Would you mind if I enter? It’s rather chilly in this rain.”   
Vernon grumbled and shuffled back, and the man stepped in. He stopped when he saw Harry and sat next to him on the sofa. “So you’re Harry. Gosh, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. I’m Professor Black, and I teach Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You know all about Hogwarts, of course.”   
Harry’s face burned. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”   
Professor Black raised his eyebrows. “Sorry? It isn’t your fault, Harry—it’s theirs for not telling you. Honestly, not knowing your own story when every child in our world knows your name!”   
“My parents... they weren’t famous, were they?”   
Professor Black muttered something in German that sounded like a swear word.  
“I forbid you to tell him anything!” snapped Vernon, pointing the gun at the Professor. He didn’t seem to register that he was in any danger.   
“And what? You think a big muggle will stop me from telling him?”   
“Muggle?” Harry asked.   
“Non-magic people.”  
Vernon pulled the trigger. The bullet slid out of the gun lamely and clattered on the laminate floor.   
“Try to stop me again, Dursley, and you’ll wake up tomorrow morning as a toad,” he snapped. “Harry, you’re a wizard.”   
Harry’s jaw slacked. “I-I’m a what?”   
“A wizard. A decent one, as far as I can tell. You would attend the best wizarding school in the country, and under the finest Headmaster the school has ever seen; Albus Dumbled-”  
“I WON’T PAY SOME FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!”   
The professor’s silver eyes darkened and he stood up, pointing his stick—maybe a magic wand, if he was a wizard too—at Vernon’s throat. “I could do it, you know. A single word and you’ll rue getting in my way. Stopping Harry Potter from going to Hogwarts! You’re more insane than my mother, and that’s quite a feat.” He paused and took a few deep breaths before turning back to Harry. “So I understand that you don’t know about your parents, either.”   
Harry shook his head.   
“I’m probably not the best person to tell you this, as I didn’t know them very well. However, you can’t go to Hogwarts without knowing.   
“Halloween night, nineteen eighty-one. There was a terrible wizard loose in the country, called Vol… Volde… Voldemort.” Professor Black paled, more so than he was already, and wrung his hands. “He had a lot of followers and a lot of power. Your parents hid themselves, you with them, from him. But someone had told him where you were. He found you and… he killed your parents. There isn’t a pleasant way of putting it. The shocking thing is, he tried to kill you, too. But you survived, with only a scar on your forehead. It makes you very famous, as no one has ever survived from such an attack.   
“And afterwards, he went missing. Most people believe he died. I sincerely doubt it. He was too powerful. He’s likely out there somewhere, but lost his power.”   
During the tale, the Dursleys had shuffled away into the master bedroom.   
“It’s a lot of excitement in one night, I suggest we leave tomorrow. For now, I suggest that we get some rest.” 


End file.
